In the Hands of Mortals
by ZGory
Summary: Clark goes from one nightmare to the next as he finds himself captured by Lex Luthor.


**A/N** : I wrote this for the DCEU fic exchange. It was my first exchange, and I had quite a bit of fun even if my final product was quite rushed with minimal editing.

I can only warn that the first quarter of the fic is dark and full of non-con and experimentation. It does get better though, and it has a happy ending. Enjoy!

* * *

Panting face down in the dirt next to what was supposed to be his final resting place, Clark groaned as the world started to come into focus. A cacophony filled his ears, and no matter how hard he clenched his eyes, he was seeing more than he wanted to. The toll of everything that had happened was threatening to bury him all over again, and he momentarily felt like that little boy locked away in the broom closet all over again.

As it was the dead of night there was no chance to truly recharge, but it was still better than the alternative.

Focusing on the feel dusty feel of the hard ground beneath him, the kiss of the breeze tickling the top of his head, and the symphony of nearby crickets, he managed to focus and soon enough his labored breathing tapered off into something more controlled. The world became something manageable, and he slowly rolled onto his back.

Before he could open his eyes to the night sky above him, a sharp tingling sensation raced through his neck making his muscles involuntarily lock up. He didn't have much time to consider the sudden exhaustion settling through his body and nursing him back into unconsciousness.

* * *

The foreign sensation of a harsh slap jarred him awake. The prickling aftermath lingered underneath his skin of his cheek while his eyes struggled to adjust to the harsh lights of his strange, new surroundings.

The large one-way mirror on the opposite wall reflects his current unfortunate state. His arms are stretched above his head, and his legs are stretched out and secured to limit mobility. He is also stark naked with not even a scrap to cover his privates. Standing before him in the middle of this bare room is a smiling and bald Lex Luthor who looks like Christmas has arrived early as he observes Clark.

"Welcome to the land of the living," remarked Luthor with one arm sweeping out as if there's some great sight to see. Clark makes the mistake of following that hand and is caught off guard when the other backhands him across the face. Lex's bulky ring caught him on the cheek with a stinging scratch, and his mind struggles to process this unaccustomed feeling of pain, however fleeting. Clark's mind reels back to the last time he'd felt such a sting drag across his face. But that had only been possible due to-

"Wha- How?" The sound of his own voice disappointed Clark. Scraped raw from disuse, it seemed almost a miracle he could get words out. Though it might as well be a rhetorical question as he had seen how in his reflection. And if not then the familiar weakening and fatigued feeling coursing through his body that emanated from around his neck would have given him a clue.

Lex's fingers reached out to trace skin above the collar clasped around his throat in answer to his question. Watching the movement with detached fascination, the bright green glowing against Lex's pale skin does not surprise Clark.

Lex threw him another smile while eyeing the metal restraints digging into Clark's wrists. "Call me old fashioned, but I think some things just never go out of style. Though from what I've gathered, so do you, Kal-El." The use of his birth name coming from Lex of all people caused Clark to flinch which only served to delight the other man. "Not that anything we'll do together can be considered 'old-fashioned'." His smile widened as he clapped his hands together before gesturing to the mirror on the other side of the room. "I've always believed in the hands on approach in my scientific pursuits."

Feeling so exposed with the way Lex clinically eyes his stretched out form makes him feel just like a frog that's about to be dissected.

* * *

Childhood nightmares of being strapped down in a government facility and being forced to watch his own dissection played on a nightmarish loop the few hours Clark was allowed to sleep. The fear that any odd thing he did would expose him and have him singled out as being different before getting shipped off to Area 51.

Eyeing the simple night stick in Lex's hands does not abate any of trepidation.

"There's only so much of a picture a corpse can paint for me," began Lex. "Even one as informative and helpful as Zod's." Lex started to play with the stick, and Clark couldn't help but follow its movements while also warily keeping track of Lex's steps towards him. "Such as the various effects of kryptonite on the body or the many conditions a Kryptonian body can withstand for one thing. Or even something as simple as alien organs and density of the body and yada, yada, yada," he explained with a wide smile on his face as one hand made a yapping gesture. Every listed item brought him closer and closer until he was within a breath's space in front of Clark, who did his best to maintain his composure.

The sudden crack of the stick against his face sent his head tilting to the side which gave Lex the advantage of gripping his jaw, forcing it open and shoving the same night stick into his mouth. Caught off guard, he initially chokes and feels a slight clench in his gut, but the stick remained in his mouth and traveled roughly to the back of his throat where Lex toyed around by moving it back and forth in alternating paces.

"But it can't give us answers about stimuli or live reaction times," continued Lex as if they were chatting about the weather. His other hand clamped down on Clark's exposed nipples and began to tweak at both the flesh as well as the hair surrounding it. Clark noted the unnatural smoothness of Lex's hands as it got to work. The sensations are all together unpleasant, and Clark reflectively tried to kick out at the man in response before the restraints at his ankles denied him that. Lex only hummed in observation while continuing his ministrations. "Essentially, I want to see what gets the motor running in this package of yours."

The threat of tears burn at the corner of Clark's eyes as Lex finally yanked the stick out of his mouth with a faint trail of saliva chasing it. His chest heaved at the sensation of loss, but he has no time to gather himself before the stick is roughly shoved up his ass and inside his body with no warning.

With a sudden inhalation born from shock, Clark's eyes widened at the intrusion, and his body clenched around the unwelcome intrusion. He bucks in retaliation with his legs attempting to draw close, but the way he's positioned does not allow him that movement. His lower region burns with pain which is not helped by Lex intermittently thrusting the stick inside of him like a toddler trying to fit a found peg into a square hole.

All coherent thought escaped him and only confused and choked out noises of displeasure vocalize past his mouth. Then to add to the humiliation of it all, Lex's too smooth hand wrapped around his limp cock and started to roughly stroke him with a sort of underlying rage emphasizing his movements.

Looking for distraction elsewhere only serves to remind Clark of the faceless scientists taking notes from behind the mirror. Something within him fractures at the edges as he can do nothing but be violated in the name of "science". Lex's hand inexpertly jerks his member, and Clark's attempts to buck away are just chased by those slim fingers that squeeze and pull with no intent of finesse or technique.

After what seemed like an eternity, Lex yanked the stick out and idly observed the fluids coating its plastic surface while his other hand remained tightly wrapped around Clark's still flaccid cock. Frowning after a few more strokes with no reaction, Lex finally relinquished that hold as well.

"Does Ms. Lane often come away as disappointed as me after your little trysts?"

The mention of Lois wiped away all of Clark's shock and replaced it with rage. If the collar wasn't weakening his system, then he knew his vision would've been filled with literal heat. "Don't you dare—"

"Yes, yes, I've heard it all before," interrupted Lex while twirling the stick between his slim fingers. "Or else you'll somehow rip me limb from limb and burn a hole in me that neither God nor my father made? Does that sound about right for your type of wrathful retribution? I'd remind you that you're in no position to make threats, and I'd find any of them just as idle and useless as the ones our little bat friend left for me during my brief stay in prison."

The mention of Batman confused Clark considering they really had only been allies for all of 30 minutes though had seemed to form bond unlike any other he'd made during his lifetime. "Batman?"

"Yes! Keep up, Kal-El!" admonished his tormentor as he playfully flicked at Clark's forehead like he was some sort of dunce. "Your dear brother in arms who you absolutely failed to kill. I should pay your dear Kansan mother a visit for the show of broken faith."

"Keep my mother out of your mouth, Luthor," warned Clark through gritted teeth despite the circumstances. He found that he was straining against all of his restraints in a futile attempt to intimidate Lex.

"Well I guess I can do that as long as I can keep putting things into yours," replied the billionaire with a wry smile that didn't reach his eyes. Said eyes looked back and forth between the stick and his own hand. "I think that'll be all for today though. Until next time!" And then with a mocking wave and a twirl, he strolled right out of the room leaving Clark with only an aching burn both inside and out. He tried not to slump even long after the door had slid shut.

* * *

Next time involved a scalpel with an insidious green glow to it and a cart full of vials as Lex droned on and on about the need to know the rate of blood flow under duress and to compare a live blood sample against what had been left in Zod's preserved body.

Clark grit his teeth and tried not to give Lex the satisfaction of a reaction, but he could not help the jerk of his body the deeper and longer that Lex cut into him. With each incision, he clamped his jaw together until he thought his teeth were going to crack inside his skull.

At one point, Lex lightly traced the scalpel along the length of his cock while stopping at the tip.

"Hmm, did dear Ma and Pa Kent have you circumcised or is this a special feature of your origins? Though I suppose you would have been exposed the second someone tried to cut at your precious little flesh." His last three words are emphasized with an unprompted squeezing of Clark's tip to which he can only squeeze his own eyes closed. The odd sensation of Lex patting his penis in some sort of mock apology followed the squeeze. "Such a pity," Lex mused aloud to himself no doubt thinking of the lost opportunity of alien foreskin.

Weakly opening his eyes to look at the man before him, Clark thought back to the half shadowed face of a man in a metal suit glaring down at him from beyond a bright, green glow. A face that had promised retribution for all his perceived and future sins. As strange as the thought was, Clark would rather go back to that moment and the quick end that had been promised rather than whatever drawn out sessions Lex continued to think up for him.

* * *

He's not always strung up like a statue for Lex to merrily debase. Sometimes he gets to live through his childhood nightmare of being strapped down to a cold, metal table. This was to grant Lex better access as observed the device that cinched the collar around Clark's tighter even tighter until he thought it had cut into his skin. All this while someone in the corner made rapid notes about the rate of Clark's breathing according to the wires taped to his body as they tried to nail down his lung capacity or else made murmured observations about how long he could last and what shade he turned at what point.

The supposed science of it all flew out the window when Lex decided straddling him and getting hands on experience would provide better leverage, and Clark felt his full erection brush and press against him as Lex situated himself. Lex glared down at him with a determined eye as his thumbs stroked and pushed into his pulse points above the collar in a random pattern. Though Clark's body arched off the table in response of rejection, Lex clamped down as if he was riding a bull. It did not help that Clark was also securely strapped down to restrict such movements.

Guttural noises thrummed inside of Lex as he pressed harder and harder while rocking back and forth on top of him. When he suddenly shuddered and released Clark's throat, Clark gasped while averting his eyes as he felt the warmth spreading through the fabric of Lex's thin pants. The tears gathered at the corner of his eyes finally stream down the side, but even they couldn't really escape as Lex urgently snapped his fingers and soon after collected them with a rough swab.

As Clark's chest unsteadily rose and fell with ragged breaths from the aftermath, Lex remained perched on top of him while tilting his own head from side to side. Then with another series of snapping fingers, Clark's gut managed to drop even more with what's placed in Lex's expectant hand.

The green meteorite embedded in the middle of the transparent ball gag seems to glow brighter the closer it is to Clark. Even knowing the futility, he still tried jerking his head to the side while clenching his mouth resolutely shut. At his lack of compliance, Lex merely sighed before making a signal that brought in some orderlies who promptly forced his mouth open so that Lex could force the gag in and strap it behind his head. He can already feel the ache in his jaw as its stretched uncomfortably around the intrusion.

"A good scientist also tests variables," cheerily explained Lex as he patted Clark's cheek and smoothed back his hair as if this was all completely normal. Clark can only make growling noises back at him which already makes him feel less.

After another few rounds of testing his air intake, the gag is left in as it provided the "extra benefit" of saliva samples.

* * *

And so it went with Lex merrily strolling in and trying out various tests. Objects shoved into orifices to test his strength. Whips and chains struck down his backside to test his durability. He hadn't been fed or allowed water since the gag was inserted to test how long he could go without them. Humiliation in the form of soiling himself rather than allow him the use of a toilet to see how he differed from the average human in that regard. That was also followed up by a perfunctorily clinical cleaning as more samples were gathered. More tests with the night stick as Lex chased after a test of his stamina.

That was the only one which failed to elicit the desired reaction.

And always with Lex's uniquely annoying monologues which Clark could now only grunt in reaction to with tired, annoyed eyes. Pointed disinterest in the form of closed eyes resulted in sleep deprivation so the only form of protest left to him was averted eye contact.

"I must admit, Kal, that I believed all of your altruism and righteous indignation and solemnity to be something of an act. Nothing more than some projected light show assisted by your unnatural advantages. A trick of the suit if you will.

"But I will now concede," continued Lex in that disarmingly upbeat tone of his, "that YOU are the REAL deal." The last two words are punctuated with intentionally deep thrusts of the stick. "And that counts for something. Though for what I couldn't quite tell you."

* * *

Clark is not surprised when Lex finally decided that an experiment of flesh against flesh was needed as the stick just wasn't doing the trick. Still strung up by his wrists but turned around to face the wall, which might just be the only piece of mercy Lex has afforded him through this whole ordeal. Struggle remained in him, but it was token at best as his strength had been sapped to practically nothing with the prolonged kryptonite exposure.

"I've always dreamt of getting closer to god when daddy's angry fists rained down on me, but I have to admit even I didn't imagine something like this," mused Lex as he ran his fingers along the grooves of Clark's hips with one taking its sweet time to lightly drag along crack of his ass.

Clark can only hear the heavy breaths coming out his nose as he tenses up from the touch. He hates that he has finally given Lex the satisfaction of his fear.

There is no preparation for the slim, burning entry of the man entering him. Clark's teeth threaten to crack as they press down on the ball gag in surprise. His cry dies in his throat as it has nowhere else to go, but that's no solace as he feels like he could choke on it.

The sound from behind him was not so much a rhythmic pounding as a disharmonious mess of noise. Fumbling for Clark's unaffected cock, Lex tried pumping him with one hand while harshly yanking Clark's hair back with the other. Lex pats his limp curls like the pet he sees him as.

The option of mentally removing himself from this situation is taken from him when Lex unceremoniously comes inside him and pulls out with a small plopping noise.

Lex's harsh panting breaths filled up the room as he maintained a grip on Clark's hair. "Didn't even break a sweat," he noted with irritation as he danced fingers along the expanse of Clark's shoulder blades. Clark can feel his head rubbing into his back as if trying to solve some puzzle. Or some twisted attempt at nuzzling. All he can do is stare at the stark white wall before him as his captor continues to prod him.

"I suppose another round-"

A muffled explosion from overhead cuts off the rest of Lex's sentence. Clark startles back into himself and can't help but look up at the ceiling. A rare flickering in the harsh lights is his reward.

A stream of curses spewed from Lex's mouth as yanked Clark's head back to fully bare his neck. His choked noise of surprise gives way to the manic gleam in Lex's eye. He wouldn't be surprised if the man pulled out a scalpel and dragged it across his vulnerable neck to finish him off.

But Lex just yanks on the collar and brings his head close to mutter a parting phrase into his ear. "I want you to remember that this isn't the end, Kal-El. What we've done together is nothing compared to what the stars have in store for you."

Then his head is released and Clark is left alone in the room with only the feel of Lex's semen trailing down his inner thigh to mark that the other man had even been there. His mind moved sluggishly as he tried to process what was happening, and it was only the hectic noise of evacuation that brought him back to the moment. Clark tried to pulled at his restraints as if this time they would give. But too much time with the damn collar on his neck had left him weak as a babe.

Calling out was useless, since even if the gag had been taken out, all the noises overhead would've drowned out his voice. He tried twisting again in the hopes that it would do something but all it did was to further chafe and irritate his wrists and emphasize the strain in his stretched out arms.

The little shred of hope inside of him trembled at the weight of everything slamming down on him all at once. The walls he had crafted were crumbling. Everyone had a breaking point, and his had finally found him.

He gave into pure exhaustion and passed out just as he thought he heard the mirror behind him crack.

* * *

When he gained consciousness, every piece of damage his body had accumulated decided to announce themselves at the same time. With a groan, his eyes fluttered open, but his heart began to race as he tried to take in his new surroundings. While the atmosphere wasn't wholly unwelcoming, it was much darker than the room that had been his prison. His breath stuttered in his chest until a strong, steady hand clasped down on his shoulder.

"Kal," said a voice in a reassuring tone that he last remembered out on the destroyed landscape of the bay linking Gotham and Metropolis.

"Clark," he insisted with a rasp as his eyes adjusted and settled on the sight of a woman peering down at him with concern etched into her features. Though not dressed in the armor from the fight, she appeared as if she would be ready to fight at the drop of a hat. Beyond her, his eyes caught sight of Bruce Wayne in his Batman suit with the cowl pulled down looking for the entire world like he had not slept in weeks.

With an anxious gulp, his eyes drifted back to the woman before him, and he tried to calm himself with some slow and steady breaths though his mind was plagued with questions. Though still tired, he felt nowhere near as fatigued and weak. One of his hands suddenly latched on to his neck, and he sighed in relief to find it bare while also making note of the indentation that remained in his flesh.

It then occurred to him that he could not hear anything beyond the hammering of his own heart, the sound of his own breathing, and the ambient sounds of the cave.

* * *

Diana is a warrior and a demigod which certainly explained the great poise and magnificence she radiated even while perched on the edge of Clark's bed.

"We never spoke to each other," Clark observed quietly with some embarrassment after he had struggled to gulp down a glass of water. He had gotten greedy and tried to drink more of the cool liquid than he could handle. Though that's not the reason why he can't meet the other two's eyes.

"There were more pressing matters," she assured him.

And while he can agree, he had been raised better than -

"My mother," he realized with a pang in his heart. His eyes settled on Bruce again, who had remained down in the cave even as Clark declared he was fine.

"She's safe. I've been keeping an eye on her," assured Bruce in that low, steady tone of his. It is markedly different than the voice he uses in public but only slightly different from the bass of a growl that makes up his other voice.

Clark's head nodded slowly as relief flooded through him. "Thank you." His eyes traveled back down to his red wrists and the hands that were balled up in his lap. Thought not as bad as they had been, the marks on his skin had yet to completely heal no doubt after effects of whatever Lex had been doing to him. His attempt to get out of the bed in a rush found him nearly face planting beneath trembling legs if not for Diana's quick intervention and steady hands.

"I'm not ready to see her. At least not like this." He can't bring himself to look at either one of them as a feeling of shame replaced the previous relief.

Once again, Diana squeezed his shoulder in reassurance while Bruce just continued to assess him.

* * *

When he slept, he didn't stay that way for long as images of faceless scientists with menacingly gleaming instruments jolted him awake.

Disorientation grabbed him as his eyes darted around the wide, transparent room, and then he remembered that he was currently a guest at Bruce's lake house. Glancing at the state of the art alarm clock on his nightstand told him that it was 4am.

He held his face in his hands before raking one through his hair. Breathing in and out, he looked out at the dark, calm lake and was grabbed with a desire to walk along its edges and maybe sink beneath its depths.

Instead he made his way to the kitchen where maybe a glass of water would help him. He ignored the slight tremor in his legs as he pushed out of bed.

Making a few wrong turns on his way down, he finally found himself in the large, modern kitchen with its many gleaming surfaces. Exhaustion seems to seep through his bones at having reached his destination, but he needs to see this simple task through. It only then occurred to him that he didn't know where the glasses were which made him snort in amusement.

"What are you doing up?" asked a low voice in an accusatory tone.

Clark is privately proud of himself for swallowing the yelp that tried to travel out of his mouth. Whirling around, he comes face to face with the owner of the house who observes him as if he's up to no good.

"I couldn't sleep," he blurted as if he was some small child caught sneaking sweets. "I thought some water would help," he lamely added.

"There are bottles in the mini fridge of the guest room," explained Bruce.

"Oh." Now Clark does in fact feel like a small child being reprimanded. "Well, I don't mind drinking from the tap either."

"You could have called on Alfred for that."

"I didn't want to be a bother."

"You're not," insisted Bruce with a hint of vehemence that pleased a small part of Clark for some reason. Then something occurred to him as he observed how Bruce was dressed in casual wear rather than sleepwear. "What are _you_ doing up?"

Bruce simply gave him a look that asked him to reconsider that question.

Rather than the answer being a revelation, the thought of all the people he was unable to help weighed down on Clark in that moment. Apparently the reaction to his death had lead to a surprising decline of smaller scale crimes, but there were still so many things he could be out there doing. Natural disasters to respond to. Injustices to report. Bylines to scoop.

"How's Lois?" he asked as another bout of guilt made him realize this was his first time thinking of her since that first time with Lex. The question seems to scratch out of his throat in a whisper, and he wonders for a moment if Bruce will even answer.

If Bruce was taken aback by the switch in conversation, he didn't show it. "Ms. Lane is covering a developing story in Eastern Europe." Here, he uncharacteristically paused as if unsure whether to continue but seemed to decide that would be for the best. "She's also seeing someone else. Perry White's son."

Clark nodded robotically and smiled wistfully as he thought of her out on the field and returning to her daily routine (or what passed as routine for someone like Lois Lane). He wasn't ready to face her yet either, and he figured it would be awkward to pick up where they had left off when there was so much to process. "I'm glad. She should be allowed to move on."

Clark couldn't read the look on Bruce's face.

* * *

Standing out at the edge of the lake, Clark relished the fresh air filling his lungs. This might be the closest to content he had felt in a long time. The gray clouds overhead keep him from feeling one hundred percent, but he would weather a thunderstorm on the open sea at this point.

Watching the mist curling off the surface of the still water gave Clark time for introspection, and once again he is filled with the urge to go out into the water. Instead, he chose to take a trek around its parameters.

He knew Bruce wouldn't be too pleased with him for pushing himself like this and admittedly exhaustion still crept up on him from time to time, but the outdoors had been too tempting to pass up through all the transparent walls of Bruce's house. The view was its own kind of siren song, and he could only pass so much of his time with physical therapy intended to build him back up again.

He strained his ears to listen past the sounds of nature in this area, but he could pick up on nothing else. No passing freeway traffic. No cries for help. No police scanners. Just him and the birds. More guilt gnawed at him for momentarily reveling in the isolation.

At some point, his walk had turned into a jog which turned into a sprint. The world didn't blur past him. The ground was only slightly disturbed by the path he made. A small well of disappointment welled up in his gut at these observations, but he continued to run as if maybe that could make a difference. Even as his lungs finally began to burn he pushed through that feeling and the memory that accompanied it. If the wind brushing against his neck reminded him of another kind of touch he just pushed himself even harder.

When the red blur zoomed back and forth in front of him to force him to a stop, the hammering of Clark's heart practically drowned out all other noises.

"Oh my god, it's really you!" exclaimed the young man as he literally vibrated with excitement in front of Clark.

Clark blinked in confusion as he really took in the sight in front of him. The young man before him was dressed in a red suit with lightning bolts attached to the side of his head. If he had his x-ray vision, then Clark would have entertained the thought of finding out who was beneath the mask. As it was, he had no idea who this was except that his voice may have been vaguely familiar.

"Who are you?" asked Clark warily as it occurred to him that perhaps going for an impromptu run without telling anyone hadn't been one of his better ideas.

"Barry Allen," he introduced himself as he quickly unmasked and then held a hand out for a shake.

Slowly reaching out to shake his hand in return, a distant memory of a case he had covered came back to him. "Central City PD?"

Clark's guess appeared to be right on the money as Barry reeled back a bit in shock. "How did you know? Did ole' Bruce give you the 411 on the rest of us? Do your own private investigating on the side? Hack some files? Google? Kryptonian sixth sense?"

To stem the stream of answers, Clark instead formed his fingers into connecting circles and placed them around his eyes in place of his familiar glasses. Feeling a bit silly, he also slouched down a little and bunched into himself. Any embarrassment he felt probably assisted with the whole picture. "Uh, Clark Kent. Daily Planet."

Barry stared at him for what might have passed for unnaturally long on his end before exploding with, "That was YOU!?"

* * *

"So what brings you all the way out here? Decided to go for a run? You're not really dressed for it."

Clark just nodded as he couldn't find a place to answer, and he was privately glad since he wasn't sure himself. He can tell when an idea has planted itself in Barry as he appears to glow even more than the norm.

"Would you mind if we raced back? I have been dying to really test myself out, and it'd really be an honor-"

"Maybe some other time," interjected Clark. "I'm, uh, not at my best at the moment."

Barry didn't even blink in response before diving into his next string of responses. "Oh. Well that's fine too. I'll hold you to it though. Do you need a ride back? You got out pretty far."

Clark is about to turn him down until he looked across the lake and realized just how far away Bruce's house was. He doesn't quite have the energy to make the trip back, and walking will just force him to mentally confront things he's not quite ready for yet.

With a small shrug, he consented and before he could verbally answer, Barry whisked him up and dashed off for the house. The familiar blur of the world streaming past the pair of them actually produced a feeling of joy and somehow Barry ran even faster than he ever had. Before he could perceive it, the trip was over.

"Wow," was all Clark could say.

"I know," said Barry with a knowing smile.

That joyous feeling is short lived as they enter the house to confront a Bruce Wayne who was nursing a simmering anger.

"Master Kent has come back along with Master Allen," announced Alfred with a hint of disapproval just as it seemed that Bruce's anger would spill out into a glass wall.

"Where were you?" demanded Bruce as if he is a teenager who has been caught past curfew. "Not you," he snapped at Barry as he was about to answer for the pair of them.

The click of his teeth as he complies is akin to a pin dropping.

Caught off guard by this reaction, Clark weakly gestured out to the lake outside. "I wanted to go for a walk."

"Then use the gym and don't unnecessarily endanger yourself," shot back Bruce. "You are supposed to be recovering."

The emphasis on that last word struck a chord within Clark. "That doesn't mean I'm infirm."

"I didn't say that."

"I can tell it's what you mean!"

"Oh, so now you're a mind reader."

"I just needed some air!"

"Then open a window," Bruce dryly pointed out before he briskly gestured to Barry to follow him out of the room.

Indignation started to rise within Clark at being dismissed like he was a child but then the clearing of a throat behind him drew his attention.

"Master Kent, could you please assist me with a task in the kitchen?"

Giving a heated look in the direction of where Barry and Bruce disappeared to, he finally nodded slowly before following Alfred's lead.

Alfred Pennyworth is a fascinating figure. Anyone who had raised Bruce Wayne from childhood after the tragedy of his parents would have to be.

"It's great being able to match the voice to a face," he brought up awkwardly as they enter the kitchen together. At Alfred's inquiring expression, which is just the slightest rise of an eyebrow, Clark launched into an explanation about the gala and the conversation he had picked up on. "And when the voice I'd heard communicating with Bruce Wayne happened to be the voice giving Batman instructions while pursuing Luthor's men, it wasn't hard to put two and two together."

A smile graced Alfred's face as he laid out these facts. "You are truly fascinating, Master Kent."

The compliment tinged Clark's ears red. "There's no need for formalities. Clark will be just fine."

"If you insist, Master Clark," replied Alfred with the tinge of a smile that reflected more in his eyes. "Now, if you could assist me with tonight's dinner. Master Bruce's associates, who I assume will soon become your own, have insatiable appetites."

The mound of potatoes before them brought another smile to Clark's face and a lightness to his body as he thought back to all of the chores his parents had made him do without the use of his powers.

As they began to wash and peel, Alfred only offered one remark on the argument that had just taken place in the other room. "Master Bruce has the continually nasty habit of pushing away those he cares for when confronted with their mortality. I believe it's the Wayne temperament at work. His bark is no less irritating even once one has recognized it for what it is, but persistence has its rewards."

Clark could only nod in turn as he turned over this insight in his head which helped that his hands were otherwise occupied.

Soon he really got into the task at hand, and it seemed so strange that such a menial thing could feel like a such a large step in reclaiming his life.

* * *

Meeting Victor, Clark kept himself from staring as he realized what had happened to the rising football star whose games he used to cover when Steve was out of the office. Though he had missed one of his last ones in his pursuit of Batman in what seemed like a lifetime ago.

It was strange how the world worked he mused while watching both Victor and Barry practically eat the dining table itself.

* * *

Lex bore down on him with an inhuman grin as Clark pulled uselessly at his bound wrists.

"It's over!" he yelled as he tried to wiggle away.

"Oh, it's far from over, Kal-El," he taunted with an unusually deep voice as his bald head split open to reveal some unearthly terror with deathly gray skin and glowing red eyes.

Clark jerked awake on a soft mattress as his heart pounded away from the nightmare. Rubbing his eyes did nothing to wipe away the images, and he banged his hand against the nightstand in frustration. The feel of the solid wood crunching and giving way beneath his anger caused Clark to sit up in a hurry, and he rushed to turn on the bedside light which was now tilted at an angle thanks to the uneven surface.

Staring down at the fist shaped dent he had left in the furniture brought a startled laugh from him, and the desire to tell someone had him reaching for the phone and dialing a familiar number before his brain registered who he was trying to call. He hung up the phone and sighed in disappointment at himself.

He wouldn't be able to find sleep again so he took a chance and wandered down to where he figured the only other person who would be awake at this hour would be. His guess proved true as he found Bruce in the Batcave typing away furiously at his computer.

"I suppose I should be happy that you've chosen to come and bother me instead of follow one of your little impulses," drawled Bruce without taking his eyes off the monitor.

Recalling Alfred's words, he ignored his first impulse to be irritated and instead stated his reason for being down here. "I broke your nightstand."

"Congratulations, I'll send you a bill."

The sound of Clark's laugh managed to seemingly slow Bruce's typing. "I think my powers are returning. Slowly that is. But they're coming back, and I want to thank you."

Now the typing on the keyboard has stopped entirely which Clark seizes on. "I can't thank you enough for letting me stay here and helping my…recovery. It's allowed me to stay sane, and I'm sorry for my outburst earlier today."

As the silence stretched out between them, Clark took it for an acceptance of his apology. And then with a deep breath, he said, "I think I'm ready to see my mother."

* * *

Martha Kent's reaction was just as Clark expected. The second she cleared the steps of Bruce's jet, she was running the rest of the distance to fiercely wrap her arms around Clark in a move that momentarily froze him in place but which he soon returned with as much fervor as he could. It was now that he finally allowed himself to cry as her relieved sobs reached his ears.

After what seemed like an eternity, Martha finally unwound her arms so she could grasp his face between both of her hands. "Oh, my sweet, sweet boy. What has happened to you?"

He doesn't tell her the full story, but she gets enough of the picture to know that while she would love to have him back at home, he is best where he is for the moment. That and Clark had insisted that she keep the social plans that would occupy her for a good two weeks.

What really struck Clark as odd was the easy interaction between his mother and Bruce. They chatted like old friends and upon arriving at the lake house she even complimented Alfred on the recipe tips he'd given her at some previous time. It was rather disorienting and briefly threatened to unanchor his worldview but taking in the easy smiles that graced his mother's face (and the genuine small ones that surprisingly happened on Bruce's) Clark could feel nothing but gratitude that someone else was watching out for his mother when he couldn't.

He continued to observe as Bruce focused all his attention on his conversation with Martha, and Clark couldn't help but smile fondly at Bruce. When Bruce's eyes suddenly caught him smiling at him, though, Clark started an exaggerated cough and excused himself from the room claiming that he just needed some water.

* * *

"Would you care to join me in the gym, Clark?"

He turned his head away from the magazine he hadn't really been reading to face an assessing Diana.

"Um, sure." He winced a bit at how ineloquently he had answered her request, but she didn't seem to mind as just smiled softy in return before turning around and heading towards Bruce's gym.

It turned out that Diana was in search of a sparring partner. Practice dummies only did so much, and while Bruce was adept at many forms, he was currently away on business.

Trepidation filled Clark as old warnings about never using his strength for idle fighting echoed around in his head. But having witnessed Diana's languid grace and strength in action, kneejerk assumptions washed away. That and it wouldn't be the first time he ended up getting tossed around by a woman with more finesse and skill in battle.

"If anything, I'm probably a poor choice since I've never done anything more complicated beyond throwing right hooks," he warned her which she laughed at in good nature.

"We can learn together then," she assured him before slipping into a starting position.

She easily took him down within ten seconds of their first round. "Are you holding back on me?" Her tone suggested that some respect would be lost if that were the case.

"No! I wouldn't dream of it! Sadly, that is everything that I have at the moment."

"Your form truly is abysmal," she commented from above him while extending a hand to help him up. It then turned into a lesson as she then pointed out how she had been able to subdue him and helped to correct some of his positioning while walking him through alternate techniques beyond punching as hard as he could.

Their second bout lasted slightly longer though she still pulled off the win. At this point, the adrenaline coursing through his body had burned out the last of his doubts.

As they went into their next one, some of his punches managed to not only land but with more impact than before. Diana appeared to notice too as the smile on her face grew wider as she met him blow for blow. Though she won once again, the outcome had been a little closer this time though nowhere near a tie.

A resounding feeling of euphoria thrummed inside of him at having had this opportunity to unleash some pent up tensions.

"I'm surprised my gym is still intact," remarked a voice off to the side. The duo turned to see Bruce observing them back in turn before.

"As if you couldn't afford it," quipped Clark.

"You know I fully intend on billing you for my nightstand," returned Bruce in a deadpan voice though the hint of a smile gave him away.

"You should join us, Bruce," welcomed Diana. "Clark needs all the advice he can get."

Clark snorted at that, but it was Bruce's reply that almost blew his socks off.

"Well color me surprised that the hayseed can only throw haymakers."

"I've been improving!" He felt the slight need to defend himself.

"Is that so?" questioned Bruce as he started to shrug off his jacket. "Well I'd like to see that." Clark couldn't take his eyes off of the other man as he started to divest himself of clothing that cost more than all of Clark's belongings combined. He watched as the same fingers that knew how to pinch a man into unconsciousness quickly unbuttoned the fastenings of his waistcoat. The silk tie at his throat was slowly undone and folded to join his other two layers on the bench. Soon enough, Bruce was down to his undershirt and slack, and

Clark felt like an absolute slob in comparison as he stood around in his borrowed t-shirt that was soaked through with perspiration.

Bruce seemed to eye the perspiration stains found at both armpits of the shirt, and Clark imagined how he was probably thinking about the shirt he wasn't getting back. In a fit of nervousness, Clark grabbed the hem of his shirt and pulled it over his head to mop at his brow before also throwing it to the side. Though his physique had suffered from his treatment under Lex, he had been getting it back during his stay. He wanted to second guess that thought at the way Bruce just blankly stared at him.

"Whenever you two are ready," said Diana as if reminding them that she was still there.

Shaking his head to clear his mind, Clark got ready as did Bruce. On Diana's count, they began. Trying to keep Diana's advice in mind, he actually managed to evade the first strike. His joy was brief as that actually left him open to a flip that knocked the wind from him. But as Bruce moved in for a quick hold that would end the match, Clark managed to evade that as well and knocked him to his knees. Bruce rolled with it though, and eventually the pair found themselves with Clark pinned between Bruce's knees.

Clark was breathless for reasons that weren't entirely because of the match. Gazing up at Bruce with wide eyes, he realized what he was feeling, and it left his jaw flapping open in a way that his mother once said would catch flies.

As if shocked by an invisible current, Bruce suddenly leapt off of him. "Still needs improvement," he gruffly remarked before gathering up his clothes and exiting the gym.

The uncomfortable silence stretched in his absence as sadness slowly filtered through him. He hadn't even bothered to help Clark up, leaving that task to Diana who judging by the downturn of her mouth didn't think much of Bruce's sudden departure either.

* * *

The nightmare that haunted him that night might have been the worst one yet as he once again awoke with some invisible force squeezing his heart into an irregular beat.

Staring out over the dark water, he shambled to his feet to make his way to the kitchen. Despite what Bruce said, the tap water was just fine.

His feet betrayed him though as he instead found himself in the Batcave. He has arrived just in time to witness Alfred patching up Bruce's wounds from what he assumes were tonight's vigilante activities.

"I'll be able to have your back out there soon enough," commented Clark as he approached the duo.

"Stay out of Gotham," growled Bruce in response before masking a hiss as Alfred dabbed at a wound on his shoulder.

"I apologize for Master Wayne's brusqueness. He makes for the worst patient yet insists on indulging in activities which land him in situations such as this."

Clark nodded at Alfred before addressing Bruce. "You've made that clear enough Bruce, and I understand how much the city means to you. I meant for the bigger things. Like with this Justice League that you and Diana have formed. I want to join. Meet Arthur at some point."

"Arthur's a salty bastard."

"Then he's in good company," muttered Alfred low enough for just Bruce to hear him, but Clark picked up on it as well.

Bruce's eyes finally met Clark's, and Clark was taken aback by the wealth of emotions he witnessed he saw plainly displayed.

"Are you sure you're ready?" he cagedly asked.

"Yes," answered Clark without hesitation. "I want to help, and I'm nearly back to my full strength."

"Nearly isn't good enough."

"Then what will be?" argued Clark. "If you want me to wait until I'm 100%, I can't ever guarantee that after all that's happened with Luthor, but I can guarantee you that where I am now is as close to what I used to know, and I am tired of waiting. I want to continue to make a difference in the world, and I would prefer to do that soon rather than sitting around waiting for pieces of me to return that might be lost for good."

The weight of what he has just verbalized occurred to him too late, but he firmly stood his ground rather than try to take any of it back. After all, it was the truth.

Without a word, Alfred rose from his chair, directed a pointed look at Bruce, a nod at Clark and walked out of the room.

This was about the second time that Clark had witnessed Bruce looking absolutely lost. The last time had been over the revelation that ended up bonding them together.

"You are the most whole person that I know," admitted Bruce quietly. "I made one of the worst mistakes of my life when I targeted you and to know that Luthor finished what I started haunts me."

"Bruce," urged Clark softly as he stepped forward and grasped one of his hands in a light squeeze. "I long forgave you when we fought side by side against that monstrosity Luthor created. You ended what you started. What Luthor did has nothing to do with you, and I would never see it that way." His fingers began to softly stroke at the hand held in his own, and his mind picked up on the rough calluses hidden beneath the veneer of a manicure that was meant to give the impression of idle, rich hands. Hands like Lex's. But Bruce's hand was nothing like his. Bruce was nothing like Lex.

Bruce's furrowed expression peered into Clark as if trying to fish out a lie. Then his gaze drifted slightly to the left, and Clark knew he was thinking about the invisible scratch Bruce had inflicted before he intended to strike the killing blow. "How?" And the way he said that single word suddenly made a wealth of things click in Clark's mind. And while what he did next was very risky, he had often been criticized for jumping into things head first.

Grasping Bruce's face between both his hands, Clark mashed their lips together without a thought. The angle was very awkward given that he was still standing while Bruce was still seated. It also didn't help that it was almost like he was kissing a statue.

But when Bruce did react, it was like a furnace had been lit. The pure passion he responded with flooded into Clark, and the other man rose while never breaking contact. Arms wrapped around each other, and he truly lost himself to the moment.

When they finally did pull away, Clark sheepishly realized that they were both levitating a good two feet off the ground.

"Does this happen all the time?" The question was laced with a slight wonder that suggested he wouldn't mind this happening again.

Clark just shrugged and went back in for another one.

* * *

The nightmares happened with less frequency and when they did occur, Clark at least had someone to help chase them away. And when the sun finally broke through the clouds and shone down on the lake, Clark was there to fully embrace it.


End file.
